In the Northeast we take water for granted. In fact we sometimes curse it in the summer when hot and damp conditions combine to promulgate fungi, slugs and other residents of our gardens that turn lovely plants into mush or fond memories. There are no such problems in Southeastern Arizona where the land appears to be either parched or just dry. Water is a hidden blessing that appears every so often revealed by isolated green leaves and growth surrounded by well-adapted cacti or struggling, straggly mis-planted vegetation.
I thought of this paradox last week as I tried to catch my breath at the outlook of Ramsey Canyon at an altitude of 6700 feet above sea level, a far cry from my norm of 810. Across the canyon were lichen-covered stones that appeared to be loosely stacked on each other vivid in their detail against a deep-blue cloudless sky. Looking downward, the distinct walls were shielded first by firs and then maple, cottonwood and sycamore trees. At the bottom there was lots of green: that meant water.
“You are going to the waterfall, aren’t you,” said a young woman turning the corner as I rested. “It’s really worth the trip. You have already done the hard part; it’s not that far.” I thanked her and thought it over. I decided to go and start my way down. The woman was correct in that it is an easier trail. There are small steps to take and fewer places to fall. I find out, however, that a smooth dry rock can be as slippery as a wet one. After 10 minutes of walking downward carefully, I near the waterfall.
The water can be heard in advance of its sighting. It is a steady whoosh rather than a roar. Moss, ferns and flowers start to emerge near the trail. A monarch floats overhead and I see yellow and orange butterflies flying down the trail toward the sound of water. Lovely yellow columbine flowers emerge next to the water. Yet not 10 feet away on a large rock outcrop, agave and yucca have grabbed hold onto an otherwise barren niche.
Turning the corner I find the waterfall and a transformed environment. It is moist and slightly humid. Grasses and dock are growing next to the stream and the sound of running water seems out of sorts with the last few days of my experience. The waterfall is tiny by most standards but remarkable given where we are. Its location is sheltered from the sun so shade is easy to find and rest under. But with the water come mosquitos. Luckily I am fairly well covered.
I don’t see any animals though I hear what I think is a growl as I sit and have a bit of water and trail mix. I try not to worry too much but perhaps it is time for me to return. But before I leave, I take a few deep breaths of humid air, listen to the birds and reflect on my unusual good fortune.
